


A muscle memory, an unforgotten melody

by Miss_Hiraya



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce/Natasha - Freeform, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky loves music, Clint Needs a Hug, Clint plays the violin, Domestic Avengers, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Protective Avengers, Swearing, Team as Family, except for the mentioned people, get ready for the feels trip, lots of fluff, minor pairing include Steve/Tony, some don't have dialogs though, surprise, the whole family is here, there's dancing, this is a looooong ride, tons of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 04:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5319668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Hiraya/pseuds/Miss_Hiraya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternatively titled as ‘The many tracks of Bucky’s life and the stories behind the records’</p><p>Out of everything music has done to him, meeting Clint was the one thing he couldn’t be thankful enough. This is the story of how they met, fell in love, fell apart, and fell back into each other's arms again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A muscle memory, an unforgotten melody

**Author's Note:**

> I am not well-versed with musical or dance terms, I have Youtube to aid my imagination. The songs mentioned in this fic are obviously not mine, they belong to their respective owners. Any inaccuracies in this story is my mistake sooo you can tell me whatever’s bothering you in a friendly way :3  
> I have no idea how this monster of a fic came to be. I just know I’m too deep in the Winterhawk shipping feels that I felt the need to make one story for them.

Between him and Steve, Bucky had been the one with affinity for music.

He woke and slept to his ma's gentle lullaby and as a kid, he sought warm to it whenever bad dreams haunt him or when sadness kept him down. Depression left them with little but his family had the luck to own a radio, and his ma and pa's duets. When there were words, he would repeat them in his head and sing it until the syllables fall easily out of his mouth, perhaps like a memory always remembered. He would hum the notes, feel for the emotions and stories carved in between them. His voice was another kind of disaster, but that was fine. He was content to hum happily to himself and to the quiet peace whenever he would sit down on grass and stare at the bleeding sunset.

His fingers would tap an unknown surface that matched the beat of his heart, and the feeling was simple but calming.

Slowly, he learned meaning and variety, and how each song could play a different story, a different tune meant for a different scene. There were songs that would tug at his heart strings, make him fuzzy and warm, and make his limbs move to an intimate or a lively dance. There were those that would tell him of the life in the barn, at sea, in sorrow and grief, in peace, without having words to convey it.

 

* * *

 

He learned and learned more of the world of notes pieced together in sound. Then, he met the asthmatic kid with a knack for trouble in the neighborhood, who also opened him to the world of sketches and pictures painting a kind of peace captured in a still. Despite finishing the fights that Steve got himself into, Bucky was glad to have his pal who would stick to him (and vice versa), until they grew up as the world also became more complicated.

Steve appreciated art between the two of them, and he always sketched in times like when Bucky listened to the soft sound of music. Sometimes he would watch Steve draw while a song on the background played, and it made the increasingly growing chaotic world around them blur into a semblance of peace back when the rumors of the war didn't exist.

Sometimes, he would imagine himself pushing the keys of a piano in harmony to a song. It's lethargic to an extent that he could just sit there and get lost with the train of soothing notes, floating inside a warm space. It was a feeling he would never forget.

* * *

 

When the war broke, Bucky did not anymore hear the merry tune they used to play. The parties that they had to attend had the lively dancing tunes but Bucky was not deaf to the cries and impending doom that was just waiting for them outside the door where the lively music couldn't quite reach.

But the music here where he stood sung to him, and for a while he could force himself to push away the darker thoughts. There were lovely dames to talk to, and comrades with bright smiles on their faces. Most importantly, the beat that reverberated through the halls were filled with temporary relief that he found his fingers tapping in sync on the glass he's holding. He smiled and let himself be carried away once again.

 

* * *

 

The battlefield was a noise of death and chaos in between the rattling of guns and booming of bombs. It was stained in blood from numerous lives sacrificed to the cause.

Steve was Captain America, and the sound they made with the Howling Commandos was supposed to be a relief against the atrocious noise. Bucky then would remember the times their band of soldiers would sing with their whole hearts, drunken but not less sincere, at the top of their lungs to a song that reminded them of home- a memory of what used to be and what they fought to get back. When the thought would finally fade into the back of his mind leaving him less jittery, he'd open his eyes back to his scope and let the ringing of his shots be the only music he would hear. It's a pleasant one because he knew through the sound of his rifle he protected Steve and that he was fulfilling his promise to be there until the end of the line with his pal.

His fingers didn't tap to a rhythm but they were on the trigger each time he called the shots. It was different and almost monotonous (the thought of having blood spilled every time he fires a bullet almost makes it feel horrifying, too) but that would have to do. He would just have to learn this kind of tune as well as he did to the other melodies he's grown to love.

 

* * *

 

He was falling; time stretched thin as the wind on his back beat him. However, it wasn't strong enough as opposed to the harsh gust pushing him deeper into his death.

The sound of Steve's anguish cry remained muffled but the scream inside his head was deafening. And then altogether they stopped.

 

* * *

 

He died but the Winter Soldier took his life, ripped whatever remains in there and claimed it. The soldier was far simpler in thinking as he lived like a puppet for the demons that he had once fought against: find the target, kill the target, and then sleep to a cold, muted and paralytic silence only to wake up when once again he was needed.

 

* * *

 

The Winter Soldier caught himself once as he stared at the offending limb with incredulity. The fingers on his right hand started tapping on his rifle to an unfamiliar rhythm and yet he found the sensation somehow tugging at something buried deep in his core. His head spun  with a passing headache that he noted to happen whenever he felt a nagging sensation that he's done something before and that he should remember something-

 

He stopped and willed the muscles in his arm to clench together before he released them. The Winter Soldier was made simple. And he should remain that way. Remembering made things harder and meant something had gone wrong, and that was a fault that always came with failing his superiors. The Soldier cannot afford that because he was made to be simple and effective for the people holding his leash.

 

* * *

 

He did it again, and again. But it's not like he could remember every time he caught himself doing it. It's always the first time, but the headache was there like an itch, like it's a part of something that should have him triggered for whatever it meant.

Every time, he would stop and begin to run the mission specs inside his head. It was simpler that way; less painful.

 

* * *

 

Captain America was his mission when all went to hell. The nagging feeling grew into something more vicious as he stared at James Buchanan Barnes' picture at the Smithsonian museum, much later after he fought against the Captain- very much alive, but feeling dead all the same.

It's foreign- the image of who he was supposed to be- and he hated the feeling of disconnection to his past even though he's slowly coming to terms to the fact that he wasn't always the Winter Soldier. He had a life seventy years before. He was good. And Captain Amer- Steve Rogers was his best pal.

It made all things complicated, not something he was made to be, but HYDRA can go fuck itself. It's hard, and maybe it would never get easy even as he massacred through the remaining HYDRA bases to reclaim a piece of justice he deserved. Maybe he'll never reclaim a bit of himself at all, but it's not like he expected it to go his way after all that he's done.

 

* * *

 

He was getting through one of the more intense flashbacks when it hit him. The muffled noise cracked as the sound of an unfamiliar melody crept its way to his conscious mind. When he fully came to, it was to the sound of the radio which he must have turned on when he lashed out inside the car.

It took him more minutes than intended just staring blankly at the box, thoughts about ripping it off bouncing in his head. But somehow the thought itself faded as a slow ballad of a song played and filled his car in a feeling he's never quite known but was contented enough to not make a mess out of it.

His palm- the flesh one- slowly traced the thumping beat of the speaker, feeling it vibrate on his skin.

Dawn came and he was on the road once again, but the radio was kept on. His fingers thrummed the steering wheel but this time, the headache wasn't there.

He realized it must be because this was part of the very thing he should remember to gain a small fragment of himself. Unlike the other memories that either carved a sink hole in his gut or made his insides crawl out of his skin, this was the easiest to remember and most comfortable to hold on to.

* * *

 

It's months later that he decided to end the Captain, the Widow, and the Falcon's agonizing search for him and made it easy for them by showing up on Stark Tower's doorstep.

Things got even more complicated and head-pounding, and he's not sure if he should be glad or wary that they don't put him in a cell or needle him for information. What the Avengers do instead was to do a tiptoeing dance around him which was admittedly more on the side of annoying than anything else. He didn't blame them, of course.

 

* * *

 

Stark, even though he insists it's Tony just as he's Bucky, gave him an plastic object the size a third of his palm on his supposed birthday as James Barnes. He stared at it for long moments as if it would blow up in his face, like any other pranks the genius is known for. It didn't.

“It’s just a really small music player except well... It's a lot better because it has more downloadable songs for free and can be customized- I even got JARVIS access to it to make it easier for you to make a playlist or search for songs you might like.."

"Steve conned you to it?"

"I look forward to seeing another unlikely talent of good ole Stevie, but no I'm pretty sure he didn't con me since he didn't talk me into doing anything this time." Tony fidgeted in his spot, which he now saw as something the billionaire did whenever he's trying to put a lid on his excitement as he showed people (he cared about) his inventions (like a kid) and not because he was wary of him.

As for the team, they were getting used to him faster than he anticipated it sometimes overwhelmed him. He'd ask about it to Steve and Natali- Natasha once and he received a shrug in return from Steve and a, "We've all had our demons in our past, Buck. They're not the same but it still gives us a common ground to not let anyone deal with it alone." And Natasha's vague, "We've all been there, James." Which he'd argue that it wasn't true but he couldn't demean what they'd all gone through just because he suffered a different version of being unmade. It would be disrespectful for all the struggle they took to make themselves into the people they were now.

He raised an eyebrow to emphasize the question. This prompted Tony to roll his eyes, "You're not exactly subtle about the fact that you have affinity for all kinds of music and that if you had your way you'd listen to songs all day."

He was rarely seen without the gadget afterwards. He'd also let Tony have a look on his bionic arm which meant early Christmas for the mechanic. It was another good step forward after a lot of leaps backwards.

 

* * *

 

A week later, he's introduced to the last Avenger he's yet to meet. "Clint Barton AKA Hawkeye, Greatest Marksman in the World." he said with what they call a shit-eating grin but instead or a rifle or a gun, he had a bow and a quiver of arrows when he got back from his previous mission.

(This is where the story of the tragic life of James Barnes exists not only in a few paragraphs but longer and descriptive just as how his life unravels a new chapter filled with swirling hues of emotions.).

The archer always had energy to talk, tease, prank, and generally made an impression of a small ball of energy bouncing on his heels everywhere he went. Despite having bruises and injuries (later, he learned that the sniper is a trouble magnet himself) he had the energy to annoy everyone as he whined, tossed his hearing aids (Bucky was surprised to say the least) while rubbing his ears, and sprawled himself in the common floor where eventually everyone sat down and watched a movie to shut him up. It's just an excuse for the others though: he could tell it was their way of easing the archer out of his mission headspace.

Clint Barton talked a lot with sass and a good sense of humor, hated being still despite what his sniper reputation required. Yet just as anyone in close vicinity- and probably close enough for him to be comfortable with, Bucky found himself drawn to the enigma of a man who talked a lot and still managed to be a mystery.

 

* * *

 

Clint, as he insisted stubbornly like Tony once did, remained a mystery to him but he felt that out of the rest, the archer connected to him in a way they didn't. He spoke of his past with the brainwashing as normal as he tried to be: not exactly with the same confidence when he cracked up stories from the circus, but at least not like Bucky who closed off entirely when the subject got too close to heart. He spoke with a gentle voice but with remorse and guilt, at the same time determination against letting whoever unmade him win him over. The smile on his face would always get a little broken though, like it's a glimpse of himself barely stitched together each time he gave a piece of himself, but at least it's there and he's trying to move ahead.

He found that he respected that side of the man.

 

* * *

 

He woke up in cold sweat and aching throat when he'd screamed himself raw. He had asked JARVIS not to wake Steve up with the promise of being able to handle himself, but he found that it was quite a difficult task.

He had to go. Not away, but he had to escape the suffocating walls of his room. The rooftop was a good place for him to unwind and so he trusted his feet to bring himself there.

Except that he didn't end up in the rooftop or the upper floors at all. He ended up sleepily shuffling to the floor just above the room where he usually went for the range and gym.

He found himself following a sound, humming through the silent midnight, and arrived to a room that's smaller than any of the other rooms but still big for Tony's ego. How a music room found its place in Tower despite the owner's apparent obsession with Metallica and not classical music, he'll never know. There's a grand piano at the center and a shelf of violins and cellos. There's a huge floor-to-ceiling mirror far across the room, a few portraits of music drawn in art, a low light filling the room with a warm glow, and a large expanse of nothing else.

What made Bucky's heart stutter for a few beats was the silhouette of a man illuminated on the edges as his body moved in slow grace, drawing an elegant poise and occasional swing like a dance. It's not ballet but it's closer to that if not for less tiptoeing and leg raising, more of just sliding and twisting, and bending his body as his bow dragged across the strings of a mahogany violin.

Bar- Clint stood there, moving his body in a graceful arc before turning his back again in a swing, mesmerized in the tune he's playing with a violin in between his neck and shoulder as delicate as he would hold a bow but with no tensioned spring forged in adrenalin. His movements was as tantalizing as the music he played along; a piece Bucky couldn't quite point who wrote it, but was sure it had that touch of classic despite having been familiar of the tune. Bucky was willing to bet it was arranged from one of the more modern songs which would be less surprising considering Clint liked modern pop culture enough to dance himself silly in the kitchen. (Not like Bucky had been staring, no)

The music threatened a distant memory from his previous life to surface, farther down when he's still a young kid from Brooklyn who lazed around in the couch and listened to a soft classical music from one of his pa's records. But the pain that came with remembering didn't come just like the other ones that were triggered by his love for music. It did something else entirely, and it involved a certain archer whose charm may have grown on him.

Clint's transparent hearing aids laid atop the piano, forgotten. He continued to play a slow, calming music piece that spoke of distant lands of distant time when the world was young and lush if one closed his eyes, unknowing of another presence in the room. So Bucky continued to listen in the vent above the room, close enough to also see the archer doing his slow dance to the melody but far enough from the sniper with his unerring vision. He slept in with no nightmares for the first time in months.

 

* * *

 

He always looked forward to Clint coming to the music room on the nights he couldn't sleep not because he knew it was the archer's way of coping with his personal demons, but because he knew it soothed them both.

His fingers would tap on the metal he's curled in, matching the flawless sound of violin with an invisible instrument underneath his flesh fingers while he'd watch mesmerized of the way Clint moved with grace and finesse that's so like him when he's shooting people from a distance or besting a group of goons in close combat. Clint's face would be one of those he had when he's genuinely at peace with himself: eyes fluttered shut, worry lines less visible and lips slightly parted, which was a rare thing for all of them, really.

It's plain breath-taking.

Then he discovered he's not the only one who knew of their archer's midnight musical escapades. A tiny voice in him sounded disappointed for learning this little secret was not actually a secret but he pushed those thoughts away immediately. Sometimes, he'd find Steve just outside leaning against a wall, slumped to his shoulders like the world scraped on his back.

Sometimes, there's Tony curled up on his side hiding away from the world with Steve's arms caging him.

Bruce was a close competition next to Bucky himself, as the man had a reasonable affinity for relaxing music for his rage issues.

And then there's Natasha who, after discovering his little hideout in the vents, joined him with a silent offer of a large comforter.

 

And Thor, who Bucky honestly thought was the least to be haunted but was proven wrong after staring into the god's eyes expressing just how old he was and how many he must have seen enough to scar him, warrior or not.

They all listened as the archer once again let them have a glimpse of himself, of his soul singing sometimes with a sorrowful note which tended to break Bucky's-and he's pretty sure everyone's too- heart. Sometimes it's a steady progression of silent notes, calming and settling their nerves and taking them to an imaginary world. Bucky understood what Steve and Natasha meant. He also understood that nobody said a word of it after; the silent fear of breaking the remnant of a routine gripping them to not talk to Clint about it.

 

* * *

 

Clint wasn't there when he arrived to the music room one night when Bucky decided to sleep in the vent again to Clint's violin playing. He would have turned away dejected, but the piano had caught his eye and his fingers started to itch for something again. The feeling was new to him: how he's suddenly curious of how the keys feel under his fingertips. So, with only a minute's hesitation he approached the sleek black grand piano with awe and apprehension.

He slid one finger as if to caress the edges of the enormous piano then to the black and white keys in succession, the instrument responding happily with a sound likened to a chime- only deeper and richer. He watched in fascination as each key produced a different sound, blending together beautifully despite having no intended melody to them. Bucky could lose himself here with just the thought of creating music instead of just listening to them.

"You play?" He flinched hard at the voice that registered too late in his head. Clint was there, wearing one of his sweatpants and bright purple hoodie, and got his attention quickly with a simple innocent question.

Bucky resolutely stared down on his feet like a child caught breaking the vase. "No." after a few moments he added, "Sorry, I should go-"

"No, no! It's cool, man. I'm thoroughly surprised you hid there in the vents all this time though. You know my code name's not just a super cool hero name, right?"

He flinched again, this time his ears flushing all shades of red (thank god for long hair) at the thought that he's ruined this moment... This whole thing... And Clint would stop, and the others would know and they would lose this little peace they learned to keep because he wasn't careful enou-

"-ey, hey... Bucky. It's okay. I'm not mad. It's really okay, you know. Coz I've already known the people I live with are buncha dorks, and that includes you. Come on," The archer's hands were warm against his cheeks, guiding him to look up and eventually gaze into the most gorgeous blue eyes he'd ever seen up close. Clint stepped into his space in a stride, almost whispering the next words, "You're okay, Buck. Nothing to be sorry for."

Clint didn't let the protest leave Bucky's lips as his thumb pressed against them. Bucky had the sudden urge to kiss them but his breath was caught in his throat, staring at those expressive blue eyes as he began to calm down from the almost-breakdown. The hands left his face; Bucky tried not to look desperately for it when the warmth transferred to his own hands. Clint held both his flesh and bionic hand and guided it to caress the keys of the piano instead.

"I'll teach you." He said with a smile on his face that's not quite the same shit-eating grin he always wore, but made his heart flip flop all the same.

 

* * *

 

Learning the piano was equally fun and frustrating. Fun, because he had something to do while he waited on being cleared for duty; that his fingers finally found a deep connection with the instrument like an exhilarating break from an icy surface after several decades past. The overwhelming relief rolling like waves through Bucky's core made up for the surging desire to trace the keys in his fingers like he always dreamed before.

But also Clint was a company that leaned towards endearing and patient for a first time learner. He got up close to the archer's grins when he did something right, proud and reassuring, and saw to the little details like the freckles that lit up and his eyes as bright with mirth, his lips working in ways that made him lose time for a moment, his pink tongue peeking out between his teeth when concentrating, and the cute brow furrowing when he tried to remember what he missed teaching himself.

Frustrating, because his metal arm was not used to this kind of task and it proved itself with the numerous times he had to wrench it away from the keys to avoid it crushing under unintentionally. He also had a lot to learn and keep in memory. Clint had spent the rest of the nights teaching him, the violin sitting prettily back on the shelf. It made him feel guilty for the others who would have sought the comfort in those nights only to find Bucky's piano playing which was at the moment far from Clint's or anything resembling a musical piece.

But Bruce had easily shrugged with everyone else giving him a knowing look and a smile he couldn't discern. "This'll be good for you and all the better for us, trust me."

"How is that going to happen?" He asked disbelievingly.

"Two's better than one."

* * *

 

Outside the music room, he found himself drawn even closer to the archer as they easily bonded in the range competing against their high scores. Their routine included wrangling Tony every once in a while out of the lab when Steve was out on a mission, looking after Bruce who tended to lose himself in his research and be as worse as Tony if he really pushed it, playing mind games with Natasha and even indulging her food cravings and shopping escapades when Pepper or the rest of the girl friends they had were a bit busy, double-teaming Thor in sparring, drinking and educating him in the midgardian customs (sometimes, Clint took the reins entirely since being Winter Soldier apparently didn't include learning movie references), and acting as Steve's go-to buddies when he needed manpower in wrestling the team into one of their team building (games) activities. He didn't know who made the first move, nor when did they start hanging out with each other. Somehow it really didn't matter.

It's really nice. He felt like he was really beginning to belong in this team, this family. He felt more than a bit of himself when he found he was already joking and exchanging banters with Tony, Steve, and Clint without them pointing his change of persona.

Also, Clint might have signed him up for the prank war against Tony. It was unfair to side with Clint, so he made it a three-way battle which only escalated things from there.

* * *

 

Bucky learned fast, thanks to his already established admiration with music and perhaps a little of his serum-efficient memory. But mostly because of Clint. Clint, and his patience and steady encouragements and unmasked glee at discovering Bucky's talent- a bright proud look in his eyes that motivated him to be better.

Things were looking up, getting better. Then it happened.

One midnight lesson, Bucky managed to look devastated despite trying to hide the fact that he trashed his whole bedroom after one rage episode. When Clint opened his way to the music room, Bucky was there curled up as small as he can in a far corner and was shaking violently not out of fear but of struggling for control. For sanity.

Clint played for him that night, again without his hearing aids, but he didn't notice that halfway through the piece when he finally forced his muscles to cooperate with him. The archer's intense but graceful movements with the thump of his bare feet had slowly eased him out of his violent thoughts. He was gorgeous. He was perfect. Perhaps Clint always had been, despite Bucky belatedly noticing the self-deprecating humor the archer injected in most of his jokes.

Tears rimmed his eyes red and wet his cheeks, the rage and misery washed away into exhaustion and surrender as he watched Clint until he couldn't remember sleeping through it.

He thought he felt warmth on his skin lingering on his forehead and then followed by a soft tickling sensation on top of his hair. He thought he heard the words whispered gently to him, "I'll keep you safe."

* * *

 

"How do you do that?" Bucky had asked out of nowhere when they worked on a piano piece.

"Do what?"

"Playing... Without hearing."

Clint stilled for a fraction of moment but instead of sounding offended, he proceeded to pry his aids and fiddled with them before answering, "I wasn't always deaf. I learned way back in the circus when the Chris led the band and didn't mind me watching them practice. It took a lot of practice for me to get used to the lack of sound though, like learning to tone my voice and lip reading over again" He chuckled shyly, "..With musical instruments, it's just wood, metal or string and the vibrations along it which was many times harder for me to learn without my hearing aids... But I guess I just... Wanted to do something normal without relying on them as I'm already doing. Makes the whole thing personal to me... Makes me feel good about doing something that didn't have to remind me that I'm damaged."

It's the one thing he's done with his vulnerability laid out in the open, and now he's revealing all of this to Bucky. And Bucky, he didn't quite know what sort of emotions he felt with that realization, but the ache in his chest intensified.

The fingers fiddling nervously with the tiny pair of hearing aids made Bucky's eyes focus and a part of himself desired holding them, wondering what it felt like against his own fingertips. Would it be calloused as a trained archer and sniper? Would it be as warm as he remembered in his dream?

He learned that Clint's hands were warm- warmer than he remembered, and they were rough with calluses in some parts. But they were also soft. In fact he couldn't repress a shiver running from his fingertips at the contact. Bucky's fingers slid easily in the spaces between Clint's like it belonged there as missing puzzle pieces. Before Bucky knew what he was doing, his lips already found the other man's knuckles and pressed soft, feathery kisses to each of them.

Instead of recoiling or punching him in the face though, Clint's eyes fluttered with the touch of Bucky's lips. A shuddering whisper of a sigh escaping his own.

When their eyes locked together in a gaze, time slowed and all Bucky knew was that he was falling in love for the first time.

 

* * *

 

The little things that he once noticed about Clint now filled Bucky's senses like a fuzzy feeling in his gut that's slowly settling.

Someone had told him- one of the voices who he couldn't remember the name but had it on memory- that falling in love would feel like electricity traveling through your insides when you see your soul mate, that tingles and messes all rational thoughts. Like butterflies in your stomach, flipping and turning your heart a rebel, wanting out of the ribcage. Like a spark that eventually lights a fire of burning desire.

With Clint, it's a feeling of the calm sea surrounding him and bathing in the warm sun. It's a lullaby washing over him and easing his tremors. It's a soothing balm over burning pain. It's acceptance of a monster he was. It's the same feeling as when his fingers found connection with the keys of piano; like he was destined to be play it. It's like listening to a song; words rolling off his tongue, as easy and sweet as the taste of reassurance and safety and belongingness while the gentle humming matches the beat of his heart. It's home.

 

* * *

 

The realization sunk deep within him as they spent more time with each other. They didn't talk about where this was going despite Bucky being sure of what he was feeling. He let Clint lead the pace of them getting to know each other.

 

Clint was the same as he had been. Bright, full of energy, and always surprised Bucky with all the things he had yet to know about the archer. He also discovered that Clint valued trust more than anything.

So when Clint let him in his personal space- a nest inside one of Tony's vents, let him touch and keep his hearing aids, talked about Barney and the life he had before the circus which he never opened to anyone except Nat, and even shared his pot of coffee, Bucky couldn't thank him enough for it.

Clint also came up with various ideas to make him step out of the Tower including taking him to various diner places with different country cuisines, parkouring to places and showed him the best vintage spots to watch New York in sunset and late evening, taking him to various museums to help him piece his scattered memories as well as know more about what happened after World War II, dragging him along when Clint indulged his sweet tooth and ate unholy amounts of ice cream and pastries together (now he knew where all the energy came from), doing Bucky's clothes shopping, and walking through parks.

The list could go on and on.

Now, they were going to a circus. Bucky thought he should at least do something in return, but Clint only grinned broadly and tugged him to walk faster, "Nah, I like doing this for you! Now, move it soldier. We're missing precious circus tour time!"

 

* * *

 

Five dates, four Avenger missions, two trips to medical, and one knowing look from Natasha later, they found themselves dressed casually at Steve's birthday party and sitting close together.

The party was kept private, just like the captain wanted. Only the ones belonging to their dysfunctional family and a few others who mattered to them were there. The atmosphere brought a wave of nostalgia to Steve as he listened to the sound of people chattering, laughing, and having a good talk with one another. Bucky saw a smile light up on his best friend's face and it was one that is not lost, hollow, or heart-breaking. It was something that they all returned, additionally with Tony's raw and endearing reaction to Steve’s proposal.

Bucky wished them the best. He was happy for Steve; he was glad himself that he stayed and got to be a part of this precious memory.

To follow up the marriage proposal surprise, JARVIS called everyone's attention and invited them to gather around the impromptu stage where a shiny black grand piano sat there with a violin laid atop it. Bucky was hesitant to step at first, becoming self-conscious as people gathered around him. But he wanted to show Steve that he's getting better, that he didn't need to worry over his pal so much, and that Bucky had claimed a piece of himself. Bucky wanted to make him proud. Most importantly, he wanted to tell Steve how grateful he was to him in the only way that he could.

Natasha gave him a soft look of encouragement with a smile and a raised glass.

Everything mellowed down with a voice, grounding him to reality, and a brief press to his palm. "Okay?"

He missed the warmth, mind minutely despairing about how Clint was painfully shy in initiating tactile affection in front of people, but eventually responded, "Okay."

They made themselves comfortable with Bucky sitting himself in front of the piano, and Clint picking up the violin and bow. They proceeded to fill the inquisitive silence of the room with a melody strung from their combined sound and serenaded the audience with a violin/piano duet of the song Thousand Years which, considering Steve coming from an entirely different time only to find his other half more than seventy years later, fit perfectly to the newly engaged couple.

Bucky lost himself through the whole performance that for once it felt good letting go without other people taking control of his actions. It pacified his bitter core raging for revenge and bloodshed, and smoothed the knots in his muscles that tensed and locked like an acquired habit being from being a puppet in strings for a long time. It carried him afloat inside a space where only music mattered and became his safety blanket.

He lost himself further as he watched Clint casting a spell on everyone else in the room, captivating everyone with his fluid moves y as did the notes that came from his bow dragging over the strings and echoed through the walls. While Bucky sat still and his hands did the work, Clint moved in his own space to the music they created: free and expressive, slow then abrupt, swinging and turning. Their music blending sweetly, Bucky lost himself in the moment so he did his best to capture all of this (all of Clint) and keep it as one of his new and beautiful memories. 

The rest of them stood mesmerized for a few beats before they rounded an applause mixed with varying degrees of compliments sent their way. Some may have had to hide their face while they wiped away some tears, while the couples had somehow magnetized to each other during the song and were now making love-struck faces after being compelled to dance to the music. The people around him blatantly ignored the threat of his robotic arm and he looked, felt normal. It felt like a refreshing breath of air he never thought he deserved. Steve hugged the life out of him, the sap, and said, "You both played great out there, Buck. I'm so proud of you."

In a spur of the moment, Bucky in return launched himself on Clint and wrapped his arms around him in a hug. Clint tensed for a second, but then he pressed back warmly against him. "Have I told you that you're so hot out there, Barnes? Lord knows how I want to kiss your handsome face right now."

Bucky pulled back and tilted his face in the most taunting way. The shorter man grinned brightly it melted his insides into a mush before lips pressed together. 

 

* * *

 

"I like you." Bucky blurted out one early morning while he munched on Clint's pancakes.

Clint responded almost immediately with a cocky grin, "Yup, my pancakes tend to have that effect on people." But no, that wasn't just it, Bucky relented because it's really not. He liked Clint ever since he first listened to him grumble and whine during the whole movie night watching Lord of the Rings. He liked Clint for a long time even before he knew it himself, and he liked Clint even more now that they've finally gone this far. Bucky was determined to let the archer know, so he wrapped his arms around the other man who got close enough to drop another batch of pancakes in his plate. Clint let out a yelp, "Aww, cuddles." and twisted his way to face Bucky, but Bucky held him there as he nosed along his spine. "I like your pancakes... And you whining like a three-year old, sleeping like a starfish on the couch, wearing your blanket like a burrito, showing off your tricky shots and grinning like you were born for it, perching on high places, doing your resting face, drawing your bow, playing the violin and dancing your way to it.."

Clint was steadily blushing and Bucky happily pointed that out, too. "And you blushing from the tips of your toes...”

"I do not!"

Bucky stood up from behind the archer and caged him by the waist. Clint allowed himself to be moved around so they faced each other. Bucky raised an eyebrow at Clint's flustered cheeks and stupidly shy grin, "I like you, Clinton Francis Barton."

And because he was best friends with one Steve Rogers who was a cheesy romantic and might have rubbed off on him, he proceeded to place a kiss on the archer's forehead and trailed down feathery ones until he reached Clint's ticklish spots on his neck. "Aww, James, you sly little--" Bucky continued torturing the other man with his hands finding his ticklish spots all over, squawks reducing into hysterical gasps and chokes in between his hyena-sounding laugh.

 

* * *

 

Bucky could see Clint springing awake and immediately planting his hands on the knife under the pillow cushion like a reflex. He stood just beside the door and waited for Clint to absorb his surroundings. If people believed that Clint was less than dangerous against any of members of the team, they were stupidly wrong.

Eventually, and quite unnervingly, Clint's eyes had roamed the dark without as much as a blink. He noticed Bucky in his misery, probably looking far too vulnerable but also beyond tired to care. "Hey."

"Hey." His voice sounded hoarse, Bucky winced internally hearing himself.

"Rough night?" Bucky managed a minute nod.

Clint slid his knife back and relaxed in a heartbeat. Bucky took this as a sign as he then shuffled sluggishly to the space Clint just vacated, the archer coaxing him to draw nearer. Bucky slid closer and let Clint manhandle him to a comfortable position with gentle hands. The action itself drew a soft sigh out of him. He burrowed closer to the blond as if he was trying to combine them into one being. Bucky found Clint's heartbeat in no time. The younger man wrapped his hands around Bucky, one hand carding through his sweat-soaked hair and the other running smoothly on his back. He whispered in a small voice the words Bucky always held on to before planting fervent kisses to any part he could reach. “I’ll keep you safe."

Because there's only so much they could do before even avoiding to sleep by playing the piano won't do any help. There's only so much Bucky could do until it wouldn't be enough to keep him away from a long slumber and back to facing his nightmares.

But now Bucky's here and Clint has him. Clint, for all his sass and sharpness, would do everything to piece Bucky back together every time he shattered, because Clint understood what it felt like. Clint accepted Bucky that way. And Clint loved Bucky in every way.

He knew this without Clint saying the words because they both think saying it out loud would only ruin the kind of sacredness this moment possessed. There would be time to speak their hearts out for the world but this was theirs and theirs alone.

 

And if Bucky cried himself to sleep that night to Clint's welcoming silence, it would only be Clint's secret to keep.

 

* * *

 

When medical gave the okay signal for him, Bucky had been so relieved. He was healing. He was getting better.

Now he’s getting better enough to do what the part of himself that’s remained through years of brainwashing: to have Steve Roger’s back. This time, a few more people have his in return.

Clint’s face practically glowed. Bucky couldn’t help but kiss it.

 

* * *

 

Clint does not get drunk and he refuses to drink heavily, something that rooted from his childhood which involved a piss drunk father beating the shit out of his sons and wife with a bottle or whatever in range. Bucky could understand, but to be honest he couldn't imagine Clint being that abusive and cruel like his poor excuse of a father.

But the villains of the week didn't know that and certainly they did not put that into their calculation when they made a last attempt to escape and instead thrown the wrong grenade instead at Hawkeye's direction. The gas turned out to have an effect equivalent to someone being high drunk or high with drugs. Clint, as they all discovered with much amusement, was actually like the kid on one of those videos drugged with anaesthesia from the dentist. He slurred like a drunk, flapped his limbs with hilarious levels of swag while the medics give him that exasperated _but you're silly and a little adorable just don't pull the stitches too hard_ , whined three times more than usual like an obvious petulant-sounding five year old brat, and abhorred staying still.

"Buuuuuuuuuck." Clint singsong-ed as uncoordinated arms hugged him from behind. Bucky heaved a sigh even though the smile that followed it was fond more than anything, and reached to the idiot behind him. Clint giggled and burrowed his head against the other man's shoulder blades, his laugh resounding through Bucky that made him shiver pleasantly all over. Like when he listens to a really good music.

Clint continued babbling his name and following it with the lyrics of the song blasting through their shared space in the Tower. Clint let out a childish gasp when the music changed, a manic gleam in his eyes as the song "Shut up and Dance" rolled out of the speakers. "Come onnn! I'll teach you how to dance!"

"Clint, I know how to dance. What do you think I did in the forties in those fancy assed balls?"

"Hehe. Fancy assed balls... Fancy ass... Balls. Pfft...” the archer giggled through it in several beats, Bucky immediately regretted even saying it. Then the beat brought him back and he furrowed his brows, "Naw, imma teach you to dance! Like, dance, dance!"

"That's not even- Clint, that doesn't even make sense-" The reply from his lips died as he caught the other man by the arm, stumbling them both with the edge of the couch. Clint, however, paid no attention and just took the moment and swirled himself while holding Bucky's metal arm above them, singing with his rough but gleeful voice: "Shut up and Dance with me!"

Bucky watched Clint in both horror and awe as the archer moved the both of them into an upbeat dance that's uncoordinated, unpredictable, and more often silly for his doped-up self. There's a lot of fumbling and stumbling, twisting and swinging, stepping, and limbs flailing. Clint's laugh almost drowned out the song entirely.

By the end of the song, Bucky panted for the both of them (only a few puffs of air, mostly to ease his heart jumping out of his chest whenever Clint almost hurt himself while doing whatever he intended) and Clint grinned like a kid on sugar high.

Clint laughed again, and Bucky couldn't wish to make it stop. Not when it's the only sound that he would want to hear all day and still not get bored with it. He slid nearer to the shorter man, wanting to hear it closer from Clint's lips, when another song started and gone was the innocent, childish glee in the archer. He stepped aside fluidly, traced Bucky's metal arm lightly that it surprised him. Clint's grin turned into something sexier. Bucky's insides flipped at the sight of his lover giving him the hottest dance number he'd ever witnessed (and Tony had taken him on two strip clubs) to the beat of "Love me Like You Do" (the movie wasn't even close to just what Clint made him feel in his core). Bucky's heart raced but his body remained stuck in a trance while it moved across the floor with the strong and controlled movements that's so like when he's playing a violin- or Natasha’s ballet- only more sensual and taunting, his steps unpredictable in rhythm.  Clint's hands guided him to his waist, chest, and to his back when Clint clung his legs to Bucky's waist. He breathed hotly into his neck while tracing the shell of his right ear and gave him an overload of sensation. "Fuck."

 

He was fucked indeed, Bucky's thoughts supplied helpfully as he laid his hands on the skin of his lover. The contact set ablaze the desire that made his thoughts scramble for coherence while he watched Clint play it to his whim to the beat of the music.

Bucky attempted to bring them closer, breathing his name in a sigh but Clint, who seconds ago was an uncoordinated kid in sugar high, shushed him with his finger in a fleeting moment before stepping back and did an impression of a ballerina in their living room. Natasha probably taught him that and he improvised some moves, but whatever. It still made Bucky's legs jelly by only watching and trying to match close to Clint's steps with his improvised moves and lifts- Bucky may put in a little ballroom dancing, not that either of them seemed to mind. Even more, because it's Clint in a dark purple sweatpants and one of Bucky's Captain America t-shirt. And it's Clint, hot damn does this guy do anything that doesn't come out sexy nor adorable to Bucky's eyes? 

The song ended without him knowing, only that he found Clint's front pressed warmly against his and his hands that once gripped the archer's arms in order to swirl back to him were clasped possessively at the other man's back once the younger man's body fitted into the place. They shared short breaths, eyes locking and searching for something in each other's hues. Clint smiled first and buried his flustered face into the curve of Bucky's neck. A soft laugh bubbled from him, a dreamy sigh escaping then, "Not bad, James...”

 _James_. No matter how many times Bucky heard his name from different people, somehow Clint gave it a different meaning. Like saying his name was an endearment; a whole-hearted praise. Like a confession; sacred and intimate,

A song; a melody singing to his soul in sweet words no language could compare.

"I have a not so bad teacher, too." Bucky nosed Clint's sweaty hair on his forehead, and mouthed on his scalp. Clint's laughter grew, this time Bucky joined in too. Their bodies, sweaty and hearts thrumming in the wake of their dance, shook as sounds of happiness and contentment filled the whole space they shared.

That night, Bucky breathed two words into Clint's skin as they slept. Simple words of gratitude that held so much depth and so many reasons to say for, but mostly of love. "Thank you."

Bucky tucked a sleepy Clint to make home in his chest and didn't make out the other's murmur in respond.

 

* * *

 

All of his senses came back to him before he could open his eyes. Bucky's eyelids felt two Mjolnirs he couldn't get to lift. When his eyes finally adjusted to the light- belatedly finding out someone had dimmed the lights in his mercy- he found Clint handing him a cup of ice chips at the slightest hint of Bucky's discomfort. After a few moments, Clint spoke lowly, "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've seen hell and got away with it."

Clint flinched, his eyes bore a hole straight to his soul.

"Not the time?'

His glare intensified, "Never the time." Bucky felt he just kicked a puppy and let it out in the rain. Of course he knew why he felt more miserable all of the sudden.

Morphine's pretty much useless, his serum made sure of that, so he was pretty much in a world of pain.

The silence grew thick with Clint not saying a word despite his aura freezing the entire room. Again, whoever said Clint was the least threat in the Avengers, Bucky would gladly trade places with him/her. "You're mad."

 _No shit._  Clint seemed to master the art of speaking with those blue eyes of his. He felt like a worm under the gaze of a hawk, which pretty much was on another level of scary when he's not usually on the wrong end of the archer's wrath.

"I had to do it and you know that."

Clint's eye twitched but his voice was even, "I heard bullshit many times to know how it sounds. That is a load of bullshit."

"Clint-"

"No, Bucky. Having the serum does not mean you have the license to be a reckless idiot."

 _Oh lord._  "I can take it."

"Nope. Doesn't mean you have to do it. If you haven't got the memo,  _James_ , you're working with a team now. Or do you think you're still above everyone else that you can't trust us?"

"I got the memo that we were working to protect the lives of the people from fucked up bastards who liked to screw with humanity. You know exactly what I did that for, _Francis_!"

"It didn't mean you have to, you idiot! Steve said-"

"Well, I'm sorry none of you weren't there when I had to make a decision! People were dying in front of me. What do you think I should’ve done?!"

The beep on the heart monitor rose critically and seconds later Steve burst through the door with two nurses in tow. Clint backed a few steps, eyes growing wide in unadulterated horror.

"Clint? What-"

Clint was out the door in a blink. Confused, Steve looked at Bucky and then took a moment to release a heavy sigh of relief when he saw his friend was awake. Then, "Are you okay?"

He really wasn't, but Steve sat down with an understanding look anyway and watched the nurses check on him before leaving. "He's really angry, isn't he?"

Steve allowed a dry chuckle to escape him, "Yeah, I think out of all of us, Clint's the most shaken up... Don't get me wrong, I am angry. But I think I understand. I mean, I am married to Tony after all."

 

"He's not usually this... Affected."

"The point is, Bucky that we lost you twice before the doctors stabilized you. The serum could only take so much before it came to the point we almost had to make a decision whether to keep your arm or not." Steve's look darkened in a barely restrained hurt and anger.

Twice. He died twice. Suddenly, it all made sense that Clint blew up on him like that. "How long?"

"Eleven days."

"And Clint?"

Steve shook his head. Of course, he should've known how stubborn Clint could be on a good day, and worse on a bad one.

"He's really angry." Bucky bowed his head in resignation. Steve put a comforting hand on the back of his neck. "He was scared, Bucky. We were downright terrified every time you did a close call."

Bucky couldn't bring words to come out of his mouth. It's not just Steve now. He had a team. He had people who would have his back just as he and Steve did back at the war. Just like the Howling Commandos, only he now had Steve, Tony, Bruce, Thor, and Natasha.

And Clint.

"How fucked am I?" Bucky asked in a weak voice and Steve, the little shit, laughed good-heartedly. “Clint had been increasingly creative with his interrogation techniques with the ones who messed with you. Apparently, he can be scary- if not more- as Natasha when he's really at it. Yesterday, I received reports of an accident involving a penny and an impaled throat of one of the uncooperative suspects. So, you know... Not much." Steve shrugged, not helping at all when he's trying not to smile.

Bucky groaned, feeling the huge dread settled happily in his gut. 

"I'm sorry."

Steve gave him a smile, one that he always liked in Steve - one that he thought he'd never deserved to be directed at him again- and said, "We're not alone anymore, Bucky. These people... They're willing to lay down everything as much as we are. We don't have to do this alone."

"I know."  _I know now._

* * *

 

It turned out that he didn't have to look for Clint anymore when that night, the man himself opened the door to his room. Clint's head was bowed, his shoulders slumped in defeat and his body resigned and tired beyond anything. It's a wonder how he's still standing upright. But Bucky also knew this Clint. Without a word, he shifted until there's space enough for the other man to occupy.

Clint shuffled on his feet, fidgeting like a child. Actually, he reminded him of a dog. Aggressively loyal and unbelievably adorable even when he thinks he's messed up pretty bad.

Bucky felt a stab of guilt cut through him painfully more than his wounds throbbed.

Clint crawled into bed with him, tucked himself under Bucky's chin and nudged the other subtly. Bucky in return, gathered Clint as much as he could in his arms. Clint's head was on his less injured side and he didn't care that it was cold for comfort. Bucky brought them closer so he could reach to the other's hair and run his fingers through the knots and tangles which had the same effect in the tense muscles of the archer.

They didn't speak for long moments, minutes, and then hours. The silence was only broken when two hushed voices spoke too softly for anyone else to hear.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

 

* * *

 

The gala they’ve infiltrated reminded Bucky of the parties he used to go with Steve and his pals. The music filtering through the vast expanse of the expensive hall resembled close to the ones that lingered in his nostalgic memoir. The people wore their best: the women in their silken dresses and shimmering jewelries accentuating their beauty, the men in their tailored suits cut sophisticatedly in a way that made them sharp. People wore their masks, making others see what they wanted to be seen in: lavish and classy, and- for the sake of this gathering- generous.

Bucky couldn't be fooled enough. He knew few of them meant well, but most of them definitely just wanted to catch tail of Tony Stark's good grace. Clint to his side thought of the same, too. And god, did the man look like the physical manifestation of Bucky's meaning of perfect. His smile was brighter than the humongous chandelier hanging at the center of the room; his eyes full of color and life than anything right now.

Clint told him, hours before when they were tying each other's tie, in a breathless smile, "I don't know how I deserved you", in a way that sounded like a revelation. But now, in this moment as he caught a glimpse of the archer who stood out despite other people in the background wearing expensive clothing than both of them combined, Bucky thought it was his question to ask.

 

The mission was routine and quite frankly clichéd like in the spy movies except that they didn't have ridiculous gadgets and unnecessary stunts. The hostage threat was neutralized as quickly as they could without a casualty besides damage to property and a few injuries, and by the end of the evening he got to actually dance Clint in a waltz which fulfilled his childish fantasies he thought he'd never remember.

 

And there's this cluster of words stuck on his throat. They throbbed there, even more when Clint's a hairsbreadth away from him gorgeously breathless beneath his touches. Clint gazed with the eyes of a clear sky, and they may have known what laid behind his hushed hesitation or not but they didn’t judge him for it. Bucky closed his eyes, and thought maybe he could ask for one more day to gather his courage to ask this man he didn't think he deserved.

But now, the music of Bucky's life kept sounding better and for once this didn't even have to be memorized. It had already been carved into his heart down to every note.

* * *

 

Like a musical piece with its crescendo building up to the highest point, it stopped. Normally, as Bucky would listen to these anthems, the pause always left him at the edge of the cliff and his heart choking the breath of his lungs.

Losing Clint felt like the cliff underneath him crumbled, and the air sucked him down to his fall. It's like the worst of the falls he’d ever gone through because this time the world had made him believe that things would be better. But of course, he should have known people like him didn’t deserve things like retribution.

“We’re not stopping the search.” For what? The body? The pieces of what they could identify as their friend? As if that would be near enough to fill the hole that’s ripped out of them when they received the news.

“He wouldn’t like leaving like this.” As if death asked permission or preferences.

“He wouldn’t have left because he wanted to.” Well, that… that sounded the least worst of all the abominable words people had spoken to him in attempt to convey their empathy. Natasha’s eyes were hard and frankly should be enough to petrify a man, but they were betrayed by the cracks of tears that had gone dry. She didn’t know how to cope with losing someone like this because she’s never really let anyone in her life like Clint did, but she at least knew what words would have affected Bucky in a way that didn’t gave false hope and didn’t dishonor Clint’s decisions to lead this kind of life as a soldier that ultimately gave way to this kind of inevitability.

The music of Bucky’s life dissolved into an excruciating, mockingly empty static since then. His heart kept beating, but it had long stopped singing the melody he once knew and felt. He didn’t lose his ability to hear, but he might just as well be deaf and numb. The world moved on for another three years, but it’s not like it ever stopped for anyone. It’s not like he cared. 

 

 

* * *

 

The songs that reminded him of Clint and the memories they shared were equally responsible for making him the best kind of miserable a person could be and reminded him of Clint’s voice insinuating the words of  _moving on, you lazy ass._

Sometimes the words jumbled and turned into the less sarcastic ones, the ones that didn’t make Bucky outright huff a laugh but made his lips twitch upwards nonetheless, saying  _It’s not like you’re gonna forget me, right?_  Bucky thought it was rhetorical because he wouldn’t allow himself to forget him.

Most times, even when he tried really hard to imagine, the sound of Clint’s voice just didn’t come to him and it picked on the scabs of his wounded soul realizing that he couldn’t even remember how Clint’s voice sounded anymore. The laughter in his ears seemed to gray and fade out into a distance no matter how much he tried following it, grasping it.  He couldn’t remember what Clint would’ve sounded when he read out loud his ridiculous books, or how Clint could’ve bitched his way when saving-the-day routine just went to a whole new level of cliché, or how Clint would have teased the lovebirds in the Tower and shrieked manly when Natasha retaliates much to Bruce’s amusement.

The worst times were when he tried imagining Clint calling his name, it sounded in his head just wrong… Foreign. Hollow.

 

* * *

 

He would play the piano alone. It would only make him aware of his partner's absence painfully, but it's the only way he'd remember Clint when all of his memories about his image, his laugh, his eyes, his body next to his own, and his everything else felt light years away to grasp. This was one thing he could do without focusing on too much. He'd just have to let his fingers move their way in familiarity.

He would just have to hide his anguish cry in between the notes he would play. He would just have to deal with the cold space that's replaced the warmth by his side. He would just have to play until the tremble in his hands stop. Until the itch in his fingers that longed for the unsung tune was momentarily forgotten. Until he's too tired to even think of anything else.

In those nights, the Tower sung to a lonely beat of an incomplete melody. And when mornings came, Bucky would grit his teeth and take a step forward. Move on. As much as he wanted to stay isolated from the world, Clint had left him with a dysfunctional family he's grown to hold close. Steve was a brother with an overflowing source of strength and his anchor on the days he felt like scattering to the wind. Thor was a company on the days when his mind needed a heavy break and a wrestling match. Bruce was a comfort on the days he just needed to be silent and nothing else. Tony was like an annoying brother-in-law who would also share a moment watching the sky over New York bloom into a new day with a tumbler of whiskey in hand. Natasha was the kind of a sister who'd smack him in the head when he was being reckless, as that was her way of looking after him. He wasn't alone. They still had each other in this messed up group of broken people.

That, and Clint would have his head on an arrow if he wouldn't at least try to pick himself up after the fall.

 

* * *

 

Steve’s voice, yelling the life out of the comm. unit on his ear, was the last thing Bucky heard when the whole building collapsed on him. He didn’t remember the bomb going off (not like he could do anything about it- the bastards made sure he was the only one in the building left when they triggered it) but he certainly didn’t expect his super soldier serum to make a miracle for him.

He’s more surprised to see himself alive than waking up bound to the operating table. _Honestly? Can’t these people be more predictable?_ Apparently, they could.

Bucky thought of the bomb explosion and the whole world coming down on him while he was bled dry on the table. He thought of the dull throb on his leg and the painful shoulder that set itself the wrong way; the blood dripping down from places that he couldn’t number anymore; the damned headache that came with the torture of having your system try fixing you but because of the barbwires and metal cuffs and unset breaks, end up self-harming. He thought of Steve’s voice and Iron Man’s repulsors rounding up in a corner a little too late, and Natasha’s gasp that’s almost silent as Steve barked an order more fiercely than the usual, and Hulk’s distant roar in the middle of it all.

He thought of Clint who died knowing he won’t make it and blew up anyway. He thought of how it must have felt and wished it was a quick passing instead of a slow agony to his last breath. He thought of never being there, not a single one of them in his last moment, and how Bucky survived while Clint did not. Bucky thought of Clint in the last image he caught him before the archer left for the mission, skin turning to flames and mouth screaming a wordless plea-

He shook his head violently even if it rattled his abused body, and thought of Clint and his sly smirk. His laugh: the only thing that kept him sane amidst the torture of pain. His warmth pressing against his skin, gentle despite Bucky’s desperation. If he focused enough, Clint would be there, whispering to him and carding his fingers to soothe Bucky’s years’ worth of exhaustion. 

 _You’re safe, okay?_  The words would be clear against the fog of nothingness and he’d start unwinding the restraints carefully-  _I’ll get you out of here_

God, did they give him one of the good drugs too? He chuckled drily to himself but then Clint’s voice rattled cut through him as sharp as a blade. His hands cupped the side of his head and made Bucky look into those blue eyes... achingly familiar and full of life and color.

     _Hey, stay with me. Stay with me, okay?_

    Funny. Bucky should be the one saying that.

     _.. Bucky-_

    “Not real.” He muttered. Because if he couldn’t convince himself enough, then he’s gone crazy. “Not real…”

 

* * *

 

    He woke up from a weird dream wherein he was in the building, and then it collapsed on him while the bomb went off. Then he was held like a lab rat, left to bleed out in between, and then Clint was there…

 

And then,

And then.

“Bucky?” It’s Steve, his voice tired but careful.

“I had this weird dream...” Bucky spoke, tongue rolling against his will when he’s high and comfortable enough to decide he’s in good company. He told his best friend about his dream. “He was there, Steve...”

Bucky couldn’t make out Steve’s expression when he paused for a beat before asking, “Who, Buck?”

“… Clint.” The revelation sounded stupid but his judgment’s compromised so he couldn’t really care less. But then Steve shifted on his feet, looked down before he held Bucky’s hand.

“It was not a dream, Bucky.”

 

* * *

 

 

Clint looked real when he stood there by the door, livelier than he ever imagined. The relief that washed over him drained his resolve to stand, and for a moment he lost the ability to speak. But he forced himself to calm, even if it meant he was being the Winter Soldier than himself. Clint hadn’t made a move, and Bucky couldn’t hold his gaze upon him for too long because he kept seeing the dead Clint and he’s afraid that he’d lose control. Instead he asked lamely, “Why?”

Before he’s heard an answer though, anger surged out of Bucky and the next moment he’s gotten Clint pinned to the wall. His hands shook as they held the thin fabric of Clint’s shirt. He’s so angry  _you made us believe you were dead how dare you. Do you have any idea what I went through and why? Why?_ He’s crying but that’s not what he wanted to do; there were many things he wanted to ask. “Why?”

 

His core trembled at the conflicting emotions rising out of his chest. And then Clint finally spoke,

“I knew I should be dead... I shouldn't be able to escape from that. But I guess it really wouldn't be my life it didn't involve tragic twists like the bad guys somehow getting a hold on me." The chuckle that resounded through the silence was dry and bitter. But his voice was too quiet.

 

"I don't know what they did but then... I just woke up. I thought it was good that I made it through. The things they did to me when I was barely conscious helped- but painful than the feeling of having been too close to death.

 

"And then, when I thought the worse was over. They started doing more stuff to me, since they apparently made sure I was ready for whatever shitty experiment they planned on. I couldn't get out much less fight back when they're always a step ahead of me when it came to assessing my weakness. I became their lab rat anyway. Wasn't so bad when I can't hear them ripping away what's left of my dignity, but it also made escape impossible... So there's that." Clint paused, his face showing a brief flash of agony at the memory surfacing behind his eyelids.

 

"I can't remember how much time passed back there. But when a faulty wiring almost fried my brain in the open, I drew the line and took the opportunity to bury the whole place down. Then I realized, I didn't even know how I learned to do those things... Killing people... I couldn't remember where I've been before being captured. Hell, I hadn't even realized how little I remembered before I woke up to their machines prodding at me...

"I can’t remember my name, who I was, what I did... I just lost them." Clint's voice reduced to a thin, fragile voice at the end. Bucky's realization hit like Thor's hammer but instead of stopping, Clint stiffened and ploughed on with a stoic expression.

 

"I ran as far as I could. I didn't know where to go, where to start. Starting over again seemed impossible but I managed... I guess a part of me's already done that before. I don't know. Some things seemed natural for me to do, like a muscle memory working its way despite not remembering the exact moments. I relied on that and whatever I could remember about myself." Clint looked up resolutely into Bucky's eyes.

 

“I can't remember if I had a home to return to. And I'd be lying if I said I remembered it all now.  I know my name is Clint Barton, but not my middle name. I know I'm a good shot at bow and arrows, and I know I loved the circus. I know I had a brother then, I don't know where he is now. I knew Natasha Romanoff first and then learned I was an Avenger before I knew what that word meant.

"I know Anthony Edward Stark of the Stark Industries, the Iron Man. Steven Grant Rogers, and the man behind the icon Captain America. Bruce Banner, the scientist with Hulk as his alter ego. Thor Odinson, the alien Norse God. And I know you, The Winter Soldier, James Buchanan Barnes. That people called you Bucky. That apparently I loved you."

 

Whatever relief present moments ago, once clouded with anger, quickly shriveled with each of Clint's words getting monotonous and automated like he was reciting a list to keep him from forgetting. Clint remembered now: the names of the people in his life. Clint knew Bucky. He knew he loved Bucky, but the way he spoke only meant it as it was... He  _just_  knew. The feeling that came with it wasn't there.

 

The Clint standing here was a different man. A man with barely pieced memories, with a total of three years to call as his whole life. A man who didn't know how brilliant he was, how his life was once filled with all colors he generously painted unto other people he called his family. Bucky knew how that felt: disoriented from your own life it's another stranger's and not yours; detached from your own memories, doubt poisoning every bit of memory you recovered and becoming a hollow shell of a man you used to be.

Three years. Clint had gone through all of that for three years without anyone else he could turn to, and instead was crawling his way to live another day. Bucky's heart sunk lower into his gut, feeling a bubble of mixed emotions clawing painfully to his throat. His head felt light, breathing wavered.

Clint had moved closer to him the entire time he was straining against his trembling body. His voice when he spoke was as gentle as how he remembered missing so, so much. "I'm sorry."

 

Bucky shook his head aggressively. No, no. No. The last person who should apologize was Clint. No, that's not-

"-I'm sorry I still don't remember a lot of things...”  _about us._

Clint's voice was even softer than it had. Bucky, through the pounding in his ears barely heard the words.

"-but there's a reason I wanted to know when I helped you out of that cell even if all I knew about you was your name. And I think... No, I know, I trust you. I think with you... I'd remember. But I don't want to force you into my mess... I really just want to say sorry and-"

Bucky's heart didn't know what to do hearing Clint that he trusted him. Clint trusted Bucky even without remembering; that meant already so much to Bucky.

Bucky knew what to do. He knew there's nothing else to do. He loved Clint, and he always has. Bucky would do everything to help Clint bring his old self back.  "Francis."

"Who?" 

But Bucky also knew the moment he signed up for this, he shouldn't expect things to go his way.

"Your middle name. Your whole name is Clinton Francis Barton."

Clint may have loved him once. But Bucky had long ago learned that he couldn't ask for more than what he's given.

 

* * *

 

When Clint first came to them, he lost a lot of weight among other things that came with living poorly for years. It's a combined effort of all the Avengers' mother-henning alter egos to get Clint to his peak health.

There's also a litany of new scars, clearly not from the jobs he'd been doing to give himself three meals a day. Clint tried hiding them discreetly, but the others were no less than mad that Tony's resolutely made it a personal mission to find the last of the bastards who ran the underground experiments Clint had been unfortunate to be subjected in.

 

Clint's also trying not to get in the way of the others while subtly watching them from afar; hiding his confusion most of the time, and trying not to be a general creep by not asking questions and observing instead. Bucky recognized that look, as he's seen himself in the mirror when the man in the reflection felt like a stranger to him. The others tried their best by giving Clint all the help he needed to remember bit by bit. And when they get to see a glimpse of the archer's familiar shy grins and glint of mischief whenever he jokes in the way only he can, it's nearly enough to ease the guilt that are them for all those years they never found him.

They focused of what they have now. And they didn't let Clint shut in on himself when there were days he believed it was much better he stayed dead to them. Amnesiac or not, Clint's eyes saw to everything and he's not oblivious to the worries and broken expressions they have when they thought he didn't notice.

 

Bucky focused on not lingering on that part of him that's filled with desperate longing. Kept the memories which tempted in surfacing with Clint's presence more than he could take it. It's like the record in his room (theirs, but it's too early to go that far) that he kept on the shelf: dusted, untouched, but there. Bucky would stare at the faded label just like he would reminisce the memories he had with Clint, but he wouldn't... He wouldn't go and play it yet. Maybe not ever, if Clint changes his mind when he remembers.

 

His core personality hadn't changed one bit, Bucky mused as watched Clint lob a piece of paper at Tony's head to get his attention. He had that small smirk he hid in his coffee pot that made a pre-caffeine Tony short-circuit. But then he slid the fresh mug across them, and Tony inhaled it in seconds. Clint hid the faint blush in his cheeks when the resident genius thanked him in that wide-eyed, sincere but quite frankly comical expression he always manages to pull out when the caffeine didn't start kicking in yet.

Hours later, Tony dropped a sleek black bow and a quiver of new trick arrows at the archer's lap. Clint's whole face lit up in a way he probably never notices when he does that, but Tony's preening too. "Are you... Man, are you serious? These look way beyond what I can afford!"

 

"You're too easy to please, Katniss. Now go before Tasha decides she's going to wipe the mat with you."

"Tasha loves me that way. Thanks, Stark!" Clint couldn't hide the way his whole being practically burst enthusiasm.

"Tony. Or I'm gonna call you more embarrassing nicknames other than Katniss."

"Pshh. Like that's going to stop you, Tin Can." Clint rolled his eyes at Tony's mock indignation. "Hey, Bucky?"

"Yeah?" He said, pretending to not have been listening to their banter. Clint's eyes just stared at him with a knowing smile, before it disappeared into a mischievous grin. "JARVIS told me you broke my record. I'm taking my crown back." For a second he couldn't believe it, but Clint was smiling that cocky Barton grin of his and Bucky didn't hesitate to answer. "Big words. They're tough to swallow."

 

This could be a start. Of where the song left before Clint’s supposed death, or of a new song entirely.

 

* * *

 

"Don't be a sore loser, Bucky. I know you like it." Clint teased with a spoon directed at him. There's a large tub of ice cream that Bucky personally brought after losing to Clint in the range by one point.

Bucky scowled but dug his spoon to his own little cup of the treat anyway. This way he hid what little quirk of his lips upward.

But Clint just looked at him, wide-eyed in awe. For a moment, Bucky's mind scrambled for whatever he had done wrong. Instead he just said, “I see now why I instantly had a crush on you the first time our eyes met."

 

Bucky almost choked on his spoon.

"What? I haven't told you I had this man crush on you the moment you stepped in my vision? Like, I totally whined more than usual to get a reaction out of you."

 

"No... Not really. I always thought I fell first." Bucky allowed himself to say.

Luckily, Bruce arrived to the kitchen just before they thought they'd blushed so much they turned into tomatoes.

"I missed something, haven't I?" Bruce looked around, confused.

"No, they're just being idiots again. Don't mind them." Natasha called from behind.

 

* * *

 

"What are you doing?" Bucky spoke in horror as he entered the kitchen one fine day. The person had his back turned and no reply came. It took a second to realize that until now, Clint hadn't worn his aids. When he thought of it, he'd rarely seen the younger man wear hearing aids since he came back.

Clint had told him he didn't have enough to buy himself hearing aids when he was on the run. Now it made sense if he was used to not having them already on a daily basis. He admitted he remembered sign language, but he must have found it as a sign of weakness- something he didn't need people to know- and relied on lip reading instead which is fortunately one of the things he's still good at.

The sinking feeling in his gut threatened to spike his emotions out of control, but Bucky could not afford the luxury for it now.

There's literally an impending disaster waiting to happen with Clint and the kitchen when it didn't involve making pancakes.

He tapped Clint lightly on the shoulder, causing an abrupt reflex from the archer and a butcher knife embedded at the wall behind Bucky. "Whoa! I'm sorry! I didn't know it was you! I didn't mean to... I- Shit, shitshitshit-"

"Hey, hey. It's okay. I shouldn't have startled you." Bucky should have known this was coming.

"Ohgod, Tony's going to kill me, isn't he? I just murdered his wall!-"

"Nono. It's okay, it's my fault for catching you off guard. I was just you going to ask you what you were doing." Bucky rolled his eyes at Clint's expression shifting from apologetic to  _'are your eyes okay'_  look.

Clint answered in a deadpan, "I was cooking, if you hadn't noticed the knife I just threw at you."

Bucky's eyes widened even more, "No. That's not okay!"

"Why not? What's not okay!?" Clint squawked indignantly, voice pitched high.

"The last time you attempted to make something from this kitchen that aren't pancakes, we had to eat takeout for five days."

"What? Why? Whyy?" Clint asked in hysteric panic.

"Clint, you're many things. A good cook is not one of them."

 

Clint's expression turned quickly into that of a kicked puppy. Bucky regretted the words immediately. "Oh... But... I'm bored. What else do I do?"

Bucky couldn't look straight to Clint's eyes. He couldn't.

"Right. Okay, follow me." Bucky grabbed his hands out of habit. And when Clint hesitantly laced his fingers with him, Bucky closed his eyes and forced not to grab it desperately and hungrily.

Bucky hadn't been so nervous in all the times he'd showed his musical side since he (they) played for Steve's birthday. But now, with Clint looking expectantly at him with a huge tint of admiration, Bucky thought maybe showing him the music room wasn't a good idea for him.

"You can play?" Clint asked, downright like a curious dog.

"Y-yeah. You taught me. And then we played some... You used to play the violin."

Clint burrowed his eyebrows together that looked way too familiar for Bucky, and the silence continued on. "..Oh, you hid in the vents till I caught you one night."

He was remembering. Bit by bit.

Bucky smiled fondly at the memory, catching himself only at the last moment. "Yeah."

Bucky had turned his focus on his hands, willing them to stop shaking so much. He wouldn't have seen the way Clint looked at him with those eyes igniting in such a way it made the archer's body warm familiarly. "Can I see you play?"

Bucky looked up then and swallowed hard. He couldn't say no to Clint. Not when his eyes were practically begging him.

So Bucky played* for Clint, in the way he always wanted to but never had the chance. Clint in return  reached for his aids that he kept inside the pocket of his jeans, still shy. But then Clint's attention was solely focused on him, like he was his god. His deity.

It almost felt like Clint was back to him.

"Wow. You're so good, Bucky...” Clint said reverently to him when he finished. He wasn't what triggered it this time, but suddenly, like a dam breaking, Bucky's emotions burst to the surface and this time he was losing ground. Fast.

He couldn't dare to hope. He couldn't ask more than what he's given. He's wasted that years ago. He didn't have the right now.

".. You taught me well... so. Thanks." He needed to breathe. "Wait, I'll be back. Nature calls."  _Smooth, Bucky. Real smooth._

"Oh! Sure thing."

 

Bucky then excused himself, the moment the door closed between them he sprinted to the elevator and told JARVIS he was going for the rooftop. He needed to breathe.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

He wouldn't break in front of Clint. He wouldn't do that to him.

 

* * *

 

Steve’s there, like he could sense the other's inner turmoil. Steve's there, a quiet presence holding him until Bucky's knees gave out. Steve wouldn't tell, but of course he knew the feeling. Of being forgotten. Of looking into the person and not see any hint of recognition in their eyes. Of the fear of rejection. Hurt.

_But I want him back. I don't know what I'd do without him even when he's right in front of me. I don't want to let him go. I don't know if what I could ever say when he'd say he's moved on and he can't remember me. Us._

"I'm afraid I can't let him go, Steve... I can't... I don't think I can...”

"Maybe you don't have to, Bucky." He heard Steve whisper against the space between them.

Bucky wanted to believe it. But he's learned his lesson by now.

* * *

 

"Sergeant Barnes, I am sorry to disturb you but it seems Agent Barton is having problems with his current nightmare and I'm afraid he'll hurt himself without anyone's supervision." JARVIS, despite being an incredibly advanced Artificial Intelligence, never ceased to amaze Bucky with his ability to inflect emotions into his accented voiceover.

But that wasn't the reason why he's already sprinting down the hall, heart rebelling inside his ribcage. When he's there, he found Clint curling at the farthest corner of the room, trying to make himself as small as possible. He debated on approaching him, especially at the fact that Clint may lash out violently against any movement. But it's Clint's bitten sob and soft hiccups that made the decision for Bucky. In seconds, he's crouching near Clint, and for minutes he's stayed there still. Sure enough, Clint stiffened at the moment he's sensed another presence close to him. He tensed. But then those red-rimmed eyes, filled with naked fear, stared at Bucky just once before Clint flung himself into Bucky in a heartbeat. Out of instinct, Bucky pulled the other man as close as possible. The rush, the raw desperation and longing was there, and this time Bucky couldn't bring himself to control himself.

Clint was here, broken and helpless. He'd hold him close to his heart forever if he could. If it would take all the pain from him, then Bucky would shield him from the world without Clint asking him to.

"Please don't go...” Clint had muttered over and over, muffled by Bucky's chest. The sound of it was enough to pierce him through and through. Bucky brought Clint's face to look at him before gently whispering words of comfort.

Clint wouldn't hear him. He also wasn't in the right mind to focus on lip-reading. Bucky knew all of this, and yet... And yet-

Bucky resolutely wiped Clint's tears and kissed his forehead delicately before tucking him to his body. Bucky murmured constantly on Clint's ear, his breath close for the other to feel them against his skin.

It's enough. It's enough for Clint's shaking to subside. Not completely, but the progress was there. The wild look of fear was there, and yet there's also that pure trust that overwhelmed Bucky’s whole being.

Bucky didn't sleep that night as he watched Clint struggle through his nightmares, holding on to him and mumbling words of safety and assurances. That was the first time in months that the angry monster in his core had been pacified if only for a different reason. Clint had given his trust to make him feel safe, and that was something the territorial beast inside of him purr contentedly. He was going to protect that trust.

Tomorrow, he made himself remember, was the day Tony promised they would get their revenge on the people who took away one of their own. Tomorrow, he would make sure to bring hell to the people who hurt his Clint, even if it meant he'd drag them to hell with him.

 

* * *

 

Bucky made sure it was his shot that drilled the hole to the head scientist and mad perpetuator of human experimentation he hadn't bothered with the name. It didn't matter who he was, what he looked like, and what organization he lead- by the end of it all, they were never going to see the light of the day ever again.

The sound of his gun was satisfying, but the scream of his prey was morbid just how he wanted it to hear. It's a music of vengeance and death: bitter and scorching in anger. He didn't like it, but he didn't need to.

When they went back home, bloody and grimly satisfied without an ounce of regret, Clint was there to welcome them with eyes that gave understanding and held so much gratitude.

 

Bruce cooked his favorite spicy dish from India with Natasha hovering close to him. When they talked at the dinner, it's about Steve's art class and the time his teacher almost knew who he was, Natasha talked about whatever nail polish she was in the mood for while she played with Bruce's curls, Pepper announced her engagement to Rhodey, and Tony planned a party for his two best friends while the rest threw in their ideas enthusiastically.

He probably couldn't hear them properly- or maybe not at all, since he was still used to not wearing his aids all the time- but Clint's smile was fond when he said, "Yeah, I remember this." to Bucky who couldn't help but nod in appreciation.

 

* * *

 

 

"Hey, Bucky." Clint called. As the days stretched into months, Bucky found his relationship with Clint steadily improving. Ever since they started sleeping together (just holding onto each other to soothe the feelings that came with the nightmares and returning memories), Clint had become more open and relaxed around him as Bucky slowly closed the distance he'd put himself between them.  The archer was surer of himself when he talked with the others, even remembering faster now that there were people who would help him. He didn't look as much as confused as before, didn't give a general aura of feeling out of place. In fact, it looked like Clint was finally settling in. Clint remembered more and more, and he's growing back to his vibrant old self while he bounced through the floors with renewed curiosity which everyone readily indulged with unmasked fondness.

This was one of the better days.

"Yes?" Bucky turned to face Clint, who still hadn't bothered with hearing aids.

"I don't think Tony will ever tell me the truth. But I seem to remember I was ahead of him by 15 points at the Great Prank War... Did'ja remember what score we left on?"

"It was a 15-point lead, Clint. But it was Tony's." Bucky huffed, hiding a chuckle. Tony's "Ha! I told you so!" rang across the room as the billionaire strode confidently to the room.

Clint had a second to look upset, but it was then replaced with a manic grin. “I guess you'll just have to prepare yourself when I get my lead back, Tony." He winked obnoxiously and left Tony gaping in shock. Bucky patted him in the shoulder. "Good luck with that. He takes this whole business of taking back his 'crown' seriously."

"Oh, it wouldn't be Clint if he didn't take this seriously."  Tony turned to grin at him, "That's what makes all of this fun!"

 

* * *

 

"You're both not getting anywhere in this." Natasha told him over coffee. She always knew, didn't she?

"I don't want to rush things for him, Natasha." Bucky sighed, resigned to his fate the moment the redhead sat across him with a book on her lap and a coffee held in her other hand.

"You're afraid that he won't love you the way he used to." Bucky knew it was pointless to deny it.

Natasha, in the rare moment she allowed physical affection for anyone that's not Clint or Bruce, reached out to hold his hand. "Talk to him. Don't run away this time."

"What if-"

 

"It's Clint. Trust him." Natasha tilted her head, and resumed innocently to her book just when Clint rounded up by the door, "Oh, there you are. Nat, can I borrow Bucky for a while?"

The redhead's lips quirked up as she looked at them both, "He's all yours."

 

* * *

 

"I wanted to... Show you something." Clint, the moment he's stepped in the music room, had only became more nervous if the fidgeting didn't make it more obvious. Bucky stood there, confused for a moment until Clint picked the violin sitting at the top of the piano. When the first note hit, Bucky was struck with an ache of familiarity that's slowly morphed into a warmth that spread to the tips of his toes.

He remembered this. This rhythm he once lost as did the large portion of his heart that went with Clint.

Clint's at a distance, stroking his bow to the strings and making a melody that Bucky thought he'd never hear again. It's a piece he'd never heard from before, but it didn't matter. Clint didn't wear his aids in, still, but that only made Bucky hope that Clint was getting his memories back. It mattered that Clint looked like he was born for this, that his arms were as delicate as he had been when he bent the harmony produced by the stringed instrument, that he held all the grace and passion in each turn and bend and step in sync with the notes, that his expression was as angelic as Bucky had remembered when Clint's memories were vivid on the better days. It mattered that Clint played for him, and that time wasn't significant when he's just listening to the song that lulled his heart to a peace it didn't have until now.

It mattered that the notes sung to him about the feeling that's the same as his whole being was shaking with.

It mattered that by the last note, Clint fluttered his eyes that were filled with light and tears waiting to fall. "I remember this, Bucky. Playing for you. I know there's so much more I don't remember, and may not remember anymore. But I remember having the best luck when I had you. And I know that I love you before I knew why."

 

Bucky's ability with speech may have just as well have flown out the window the moment Clint spoke. The bubbling emotions rose in his gut and he covered his mouth in a poor attempt if keeping the surging emotions at bay.

"..If I can't remember all of them in the end... Is it too late to make new ones with you?"  _Is it too late for anything at all?_  is what Bucky heard between the lines.

"Clint. You don't have to. You can have another kind of life you wanted... You don't have to-"

And then,

And then.

His lips found Bucky's.

"I want to. Would you still want to?"

Bucky heard his own gasp when Clint asked him. He was a coward all along to have never asked first. It's always Clint making the first move because Bucky's just not that brave enough for the possibilities. It's always Bucky who lost the words right at the moments when it would have been perfect to say them.

Then, like a lightning strike, the whole realization hit him. The only struggle now is to voice it out loud. He swallowed hard.

"As many times as you'd want me to." Was what he said. It wasn't exactly the words he wanted to say. But Clint apparently deemed it enough when he kissed him again. This time, Bucky held on to the kiss and Clint didn't let go either as he parted his lips for Bucky's tongue to enter. The sudden wave of emotions swept them both off their balance, bringing them to the ground with Clint surrounded by Bucky's desperate hold. Bucky's whole being floated in overwhelming relief that Clint was here, and it didn't matter that he didn't have all his memories back. Clint's here, and that's all that mattered. Clint's here and that meant Bucky could just start over again, as long as the spark was there igniting what had now become a muscle memory- an unforgotten melody.

 

* * *

 

When Bucky woke the next morning, it's to face the blue orbs he'd missed for years. Clint's awake, and tracing the skin in his cheeks, traveling to his lips just enough that it tickles. Bucky leaned in to the touch, and Clint mapped his way with his fingers touching his lips and leaving a fiery trail to his jaw. His palm then rested at Bucky's neck, not holding... Just feeling, the way Clint once did when he's not wearing his hearing aids and wanted to feel the vibrations of words from his voice box in a way that's intimate for only the two of them. Bucky smiled in return and murmured in a low voice, "G'morning." He remembered this. He remembered Clint loving this little intimacy they shared when the world just didn't matter and the silence around them was a treasure they didn't waste. 

Clint's smile with his teeth biting his lower lip was his shy way of revealing something he's embarrassed for. "I didn't have the luxury fixing my hearing when I broke out… And it never occurred to me until now, but I guess I was just afraid to hear what people had to say to a washed up amnesiac with no skills other than lifting a few boxes."

Bucky's brows furrowed together, anger growling in his chest but Clint beat him to it. "Imagine my surprise when I remembered I was an Avenger one morning you guys made the news across the third world." He chuckled.

"..  But I know now I was afraid of nothing with you guys." Clint shuffled closer, and tucked himself under Bucky's chin as he listened to the rumble in the other's chest along with his heartbeat.

"If they even knew you like we did, they'd know that you're brilliant, talented, independent, incredibly smart, strong and brave enough to send the aliens scampering to their ships and back to space. But most of all, you're a human on par with gods and super soldiers and geniuses. You have a passionate, generous, and selfless heart. And you're deaf. You're awesome and perfect by being all of them at once."

Clint snickered, "I wish I could hear you right now."

And Bucky curled around him, bent his head to lean down on Clint's ear, and whispered all the endearments he knew and all those that would make Clint blush red when he could hear them.

"Are you wooing me in Russian?"

Bucky's huff of laughter bubbled in his chest that sent ripples to Clint's fingertips. He pulled just enough to face Clint, who was getting cross-eyed at the distance. He nipped at his nose before answering, "Maybe."

"You dork." Clint smiled unabashedly, his whole face lighting up in a way that made Bucky's insides melt into a pile of goo. Bucky laughed, brought them closer, and made sure Clint had the perfect view of his lips while he sung to him all the words he always wanted to say- the sappiest ones, the ones that made him shiver by saying it at the same time made his heart flutter- as Clint chuckled softly more at sensation brought from his fingertips touching Bucky's lips, than at the understanding of whatever Bucky was saying.

_The apple of my eye, the fire to my frosted soul, the moon to my stars, my light, my rain, my shelter, my home, my addiction and my sanity, my anchor, my wind, my breath, my strength, the calm of my storm, keeper of all of myself, my salvation, my other half. My darling, doll, sweetheart, mine... You're mine as I am yours. My song. My lullaby._

_My love._

* * *

 

When Clint finally wore his hearing aids, the first voice he recognized was Bucky’s. That night, he let Bucky talk until he couldn’t. They did nothing else until they fell asleep, breaths close to each other.

For Clint, it’s about memorizing that sound to his heart. For Bucky, it would be not wasting the second chance he’s been given to say the words he longed to say to his beloved.

* * *

 

_Everyone's around, no words are coming now. And I can't find my breath, can we just say the rest with no sound?_

_And I know this isn't enough, I still don't measure up._

_And I'm not prepared, sorry is never there when you need it._

"I do."

_And now I do want you to know I hold you up above everyone._

_And now I do want you to know I think you'd be good to me._

_And I'd be so good to you._

"I do."

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Sweet Rain- Rainbow Melody= it's on YouTube.
> 
> If you want to see what Clint probably looked like when he’s playing the violin, check out Lindsey Sterling’s Youtube channel. She’s awesome and very talented. :D
> 
> Also, the last song is titled “Good To You” by Marianas Trench.
> 
> Lastly, do I need a beta? I think I need a beta. Yep, I may be looking for a beta. My eyes are biased most of the time. Tell me if my grammar and typos are bothering you too much :D
> 
> Chat you in the comments?


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